


It might be the wine

by LithiumReaper



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LithiumReaper/pseuds/LithiumReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal is pretty sure it's the wine, or that damn hand...but it's mostly the wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It might be the wine

**Author's Note:**

> This was first published on FanFiction.net  
> I do not own White Collar or the characters, but I do own the plot.

It might be the wine, or it may be the gentle hand that takes up residence on his lower back, guiding him through the throng of people gathered at the bar. This hand has done many things, some of those things have kept him safe and others have landed him in prison.

Then there are these completely innocent touches to his arm, his shoulder, the brush along the curve of his spine, over the jacket of a suit that costs more that a car. There was the concerned brush along his cheek and over his neck when Neal tumbled off of that car when he got shot square in the chest. Neal tells himself that the vest is the only thing that kept him from becoming another statistic on gun related deaths.

But this hand, the same hand that strokes his cheek, fingertips brushing his jaw and down onto his neck, it is the reason behind his insanity. Mozzie has raised an eyebrow (or two) regarding the more than sizable dent that Neal has been creating in the liquor cabinet. Luckily for Neal he doesn't say anything, but he's thinking it and that's just as bad. Neal fools himself into thinking that if Mozzie doesn't say anything, then there's nothing to be worried about and he's still as sane as the day he first set foot in New York.

But Mozzie thinks it, so Neal drinks a little more wine, becomes a little more intoxicated, because tomorrow he'll be okay. Tomorrow he'll tell Peter that he needs to stop innocently laying his hands on Neal, because it's driving him insane with want and lust and concern. And yes, Neal is concerned; concerned that he is already a little more in love with Peter today than he was yesterday. So Neal drinks a little more wine and smiles a little more and leans into Peter a little more. Mozzie won't say it, so Neal won't think about it tonight.

It's the wine. Neal can swear it's the wine. Yes, the very cheap, very awful wine he is drinking right now. It has absolutely nothing to do with the arm that is carelessly flung across his shoulders. And it is definitely not the thumb rubbing small circles into his shoulder every few minutes.

Diana is smiling for the first time in a while. The break up really took a toll on her, but she never even lets it show. She's strong. Neal admires that. Not like him though, no, no, no. Neal Caffrey prides himself in his profession, on both sides of the law. This, however, is not something he takes pride in. The thumb is back on his shoulder and the only way Neal prevents himself from turning to his left and assaulting the lips of the owner of that damn thumb, is to take quite a large swig of the terrible wine in his glass. But Neal is a good actor, and only occasionally he'll slip up a little bit and stare a little longer than he meant to. He's nothing like Diana, and that saddens him. He wants to steal her strength when he's around Peter, so he can perfect his Peter-pokerface as Mozzie calls it.

"This is awful." Neal frowns into the glass, his words' double meaning obvious to anyone with ears, but Neal becomes a little more like Diana and disguises his feelings behind a smile and a swig of wine and he winces at the awful taste.

Calling it awful really doesn't do the wine justice, but Neal forces it past his lips, because even though this wine is really horrible, but that thumb is even worse. Peter is sipping at his beer, laughing at Jones' awful joke and rubs his thumb over the curve of Neal's shoulder lightly, but Neal is talking to Diana about something irrelevant and sips a bit more of his wine until he feels pleasantly buzzed, or maybe he's drunk off his ass. He doesn't know nor does he particularly care.

Peter asks Neal if he's okay, because Neal is pretty sure he's had about five glasses of horrible wine and he's sure Peter's lips brushed the curve of his ear when he asked if he's alright. So Neal nods and grins, but Peter knows he's lying. The gentle curve of his eyebrow confirms this and Neal knows that Peter has caught him in a lie, like he's done a few too many times already.

"I'm going to take Neal home." Peter announces abruptly. Jones grins and Diana nods and before Neal knows it, Peter is shuffling him out of the booth. Peter has that damn hand of his on Neal's arm to keep him steady. Somewhere in the back of his mind Mozzie tells him that there's a reason why nobody says anything and Neal tells him to shut up.

Waving goodnight to Jones and Diana, Peter and Neal make their way to the disgusting looking door of this fine establishment. Neal insists he can walk on his own and Peter tells him he's being an idiot, so it sinks in more than Peter means, but Neal is drunk and he can't think straight right now. So he yanks his arm from Peter's grip, wobbling on his feet.

"I'm not an idiot. Granted I have the tendency to be brilliant 23 hours a day, but I'm not an idiot Peter." Neal bites out; surprised at his own coherency, surprised that he's still able to stand in all total honesty.

"That's not what I meant Neal." Peter says gently, hand reaching out to steady Neal, but Neal slaps his hands away.

"Yeah, but you never mean it, do you?" Peter frowns and tilts his head slightly like a confused puppy and Neal wants to kiss him, but he doesn't. Neal takes a step back and starts to turn, completely determined to make his drunken way back to June's, but that God damned hand is grabbing hold of his upper arm and pulling him back. No matter how Neal struggles against Peter's grip, his intoxicated limbs won't do what he tells them, so Neal flails awkwardly all the way back to the Taurus.

Peter gets them back to June's safely, even with Neal pouting like a moody teenager in the passenger seat. Peter shuffles him up the stairs; Peter shushes him; Peter steadies him the three times he almost face plants into the stairs; Peter unlocks his door; Peter pushes Neal inside and Peter closes the door. There's so much Peter around that Neal wants to scream. Why does Peter have to be so adorable and sweet and heroic? Why does Peter have Neal's heart in his hands and doesn't even realize it? Why is Peter so blind?

But Neal doesn't expect it when Peter pushes him back against his front door, and why would he? Peter is all around. A little closer to him and completely in his personal space, but Neal doesn't mind or care because Peter is here.

"I'm a little in love with you." Neal whispers and stares into Peter's eyes. Neal doesn't expect Peter to kiss him as softly as he does. Hell he doesn't even expect Peter to kiss him in the first place, but he does and he is. It doesn't last long, just a delicate brush of the lips with just the right amount of pressure.

"I'm a little in love with you too." Peter whispers into Neal's partially open mouth when he finally, terrifyingly, unwillingly pulls away.

So Neal doesn't mind when Peter herds him toward his bed, undresses him and pulls a pair of pajama bottoms over Neal's legs to settle them on his hips. Neal doesn't mind when Peter scoots him into bed, kisses him on the forehead and tells him to sleep.

Waking up the next morning, Neal mercifully finds aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table. Neal can hear Mozzie in the kitchen making breakfast, because that's what Mozzie has taken to doing instead of telling Neal what's on his mind. Maybe today Mozzie will finally say what he's been thinking and Neal can tell him that yes, he's in love with Peter.

Neal lays thinking for a moment and smiles to himself.

"It's definitely the wine." He grins and gets up in search of sustenance and mercy from the pounding in his head. It doesn't matter that he's lying, and honestly, Neal doesn't care.

:::


End file.
